dreamer
by Kailey Hamilton
Summary: "Terry wouldn't be lying here with his head on my shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. Not in my own home, in my room. It has to be a dream." Or not? Anthony/Terry. Oneshot for Deb.


_Notes:_ _Loosely based on some very old personal writing. But more importantly, for my lovely little Deb for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza. Sorry for the delay, love. I hope the Anthony/Terry is worth it!_

* * *

 **dreamer**

I try to separate the two of you, to split you into your two identities. It's the only way to stay sane. There's Terry Boot, the best friend I've ever had, the one that is there for me even when I'm acting like a huge dolt... Then there's the other Terry Boot, the one I've fallen for throughout the years. Terry Boot, the one who breaks my heart every day without knowledge. The one whom I want to hold, and kiss, and take to silly dates for the rest of my life.

There's the Terry Boot who puts me down, and the Terry Boot who lifts me up.

In any case, none of those Terrys would be lying here with his head on my shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. Not in my own home, in my room. I'm dreaming, am I not? Terry, with his personal space problems, wouldn't ever come this close. Besides, I don't even remember how we got here. A dream it is.

I look around drowsily. It's a very quaint room, really. It's tiny, all naked white, with a cabinet tucked in the corner and with all the airs of being vacant for most of the year. The ceiling fan spills cool breeze on our warm skins and the open windows lets light in, filtered by the branches and the leaves of the trees in the driveway.

 _Is anyone home?_ I feared moving. If this state of me was too wakeful, I'd probably snap back to real life. But I do keep an ear open for any little noise, and I can hear none but Terry's even breathing. Good. My sister would probably say something about _loving all the gay_ but what would father say? Isn't it my duty, the very first _mitzvah_ , to procreate, to be fertile and multiply? My place is with a good Jewish girl, he'd say. It's useless to pretend it would be otherwise.

Oh well. Maybe I shouldn't care about being found by dream-dad, but even then, I want this moment to last as long as it can. I memorize it all. The uneven lighting, the green leaves outside, the warmth of the arms around me and the softness of Terry's hair against my cheek. His glasses on my bedside table, his shoes haphazardly thrown in different corners of the room.

 _What would Terry say? Could we still be friends?_

He wouldn't mind that I'm gay, I guess. Nothing ever seems to faze him. But I fear the pressure of my feelings for him would break him.

 _I am letting everyone down, am I not?_

I can't even say how it started. One day it hit me, full force, that I was in love with my Atheist friend who seemed uninterested in all things romantic. He's my polar opposite in so many ways, and that's why we have so much to talk about. We debate each other until dawn, we learn from each other, and I wouldn't change it for the world. This is what I need in my life, really. This is what I need in a partner. I want to be challenged. I want to never run out of ideas to share.

Besides... well. I've always known blokes are hot. I never supposed it could be such a huge part of my life until now. It's hard not to see it in Terry, with his dark curls, strong jaw and perfectly-fitted glasses. I look at his face, his perfect sleeping face, and my strongest wish just then is, _God, how I wish he could ever look at me like this!_

It hurts to know he never will, and I just can't get over this so easily, can I? It's harder than it seems, falling for your best friend... but to be fair, no one said it was easy.

I sigh. And it seems to do it - I feel him stir. His lids slowly open. Terry's body withdraws from my embrace. I inhale sharply. His dark eyes pierce me, as if he's fully awake when my world still spins. He looks at me and himself, grabbing at his shirt and narrowing his eyes.

Then he smiles. Good. It's my dream, it better do as I wish.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," he says softly.

"It's okay."

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

"I can't remember," I answer honestly.

He chuckles. "Seems like it."

"What happened?"

"You'd rather not know, trust me."

 _Wait, what? What did I do? What did I say? Did we... I don't even remember drinking, for God's sake!_

I was glad his head isn't near my chest anymore, because my heart is beating strongly. _Did I confess anything?_

"I want to know," I urge.

"Later. Let's go back to sleep, alright?"

Easier said than done. For me, at least - he didn't have any difficulty doing as told. So whatever it was, he didn't seem bothered. He was still lying there, next to me. He didn't mind that we shared a bed and a pillow and that his weight on the mattress was slowly pulling me toward him.

Could it... could it be?

 _Well, but it's a dream, isn't it? It has to be._


End file.
